Five Times Arthur Protected Merlin
by Dawnstorm101
Summary: ...and one time he didn't. Or, Arthur and Merlin are always getting into fights, but Arthur is always there to get Merlin out of danger. Except when he's too slow.


A/N: OK. So. This fic feels so important to me, cause Merlin is the fandom that got me reading fanfic, is the second fandom I wrote fanfic for, and is the first fandom I wrote non-OC fanfic for. I never posted anything, cause I was a newbie writer who sucked and had nowhere to post it to anyway, but I owe basically my entire fanfic life to this fandom. So to be writing this now, posting it 5 or 6 years after I started, feels like _such _a milestone. It's like the symbol of everything I've accomplished in my writing since then. And I am. So proud.

Anyways, personal rambling aside, I got this idea cause I noticed Arthur's priority in battle is _always _to get Merlin out of the way. I now live for those tiny moments when Arthur grabs Merlin's jacket to push/pull him out of danger. So, naturally, I had to write it. This starts between s3 and s4, and ends after s5 (but ignores the fact that everybody died, because _why _would I accept that finale if I don't have to?).

* * *

His horse's every step sent pain rippling up Merlin's back. "Ow."

Riding beside him, Arthur didn't even look around. "You wouldn't be in pain if you weren't so clumsy."

Merlin threw his hands up as much as the reins allowed. "The rocks shifted beneath my feet! It was hardly my fault."

"The rocks shifted beneath our feet as well," Lancelot pointed out. "We didn't fall."

Merlin swiveled to stare at Lancelot. The knight chuckled as Arthur laughed, leaving Merlin riding between two men mocking him. He sighed, starting to slump before abruptly straightening up as the pain flared up. He cursed the ravine he'd fallen into, shallow enough not to really hurt him, but deep enough to definitely leave a mark.

Arthur's laughter faltered, but it was Lancelot who spoke. "You are all right, though, aren't you?"

Merlin nodded. "It won't kill me."

With a battle cry, a group of bandits surged forth from the trees.

"That, on the other hand, might."

Merlin kicked his horse forward, trying to run past the bandits. But he reared up with a panicked neigh, so fast and powerful that he threw Merlin to the ground. His breath rushed out of him in a gasp for the second time that day, and he didn't realize the other two had dismounted until Arthur was grabbing him. Hooking one arm underneath of Merlin's, Arthur hauled him upright, using his free hand to slash at the bandit that braved the horse's flailing hooves to attack.

Struggling for air, Merlin let Arthur pull him back. "Don't die," he ordered, propping him up against a tree. Only when Merlin was secure against it did he run off to aid Lancelot, leaving him with a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

Now safely unobserved, Merlin worked through the pain to study the bandits. There were ten in all; the foolishly brave one lay dead by the horses, while Arthur and Lancelot each fought off a pair. Two more were racing for Arthur. Merlin scanned the ground by their feet. Spotting a patch of mud, he whispered a quick spell, and when they stepped into it, their boots sank in and stuck there. They pitched forward, falling flat on their faces, swords flying uselessly out of reach. He saw a third bandit and quickly dropped a heavy branch on his head.

Merlin looked up from them just in time to see another racing at him. He dropped onto all fours, wincing as his sword clanged against the boulder where he had been standing a mere heartbeat ago. A quick burst of magic sent his sword skidding across the ground towards the waiting Lancelot. Merlin scrambled out of his way, around the boulder, and when he peeked back out, Lancelot was running him through.

At the same time, Arthur dispatched his final opponent. With a spark of relief, Merlin counted ten dead bodies on the ground. He leaned against the boulder, beginning to rub at his aching back, when Arthur spotted him.

The king threw his hands up. "No, don't worry Merlin, we've got this while you hide behind a rock."

Merlin spluttered indignantly. "But- you told me not to die!"

"Yes, and that meant join the fight, not hide like a quivering lump on a log!"

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, heading back to the horses. Lancelot came over to Merlin, offering his hand. Merlin took it and stood with a ragged sigh. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered.

Lancelot chuckled. "No, you won't."

Merlin limped forward, raising his voice just a bit. "Maybe. But he's still a clotpole."

"Maybe I wouldn't be if you were useful in battle!"

Merlin and Lancelot exchanged a knowing look. Finding a way out of the exasperation, Merlin's mouth lifted in a smirk. "So you admit you're a clotpole?"

Arthur shot him an icy glare that could've frozen hell.

Merlin just smiled innocently back.

-BBCM-

Arthur ran through the castle's corridors, taking corners at reckless speeds. The warning bells clanged insistently, accompanied by thudding footsteps and jangling armor as the knights hunted for the pair of sorcerers who had broken through the castle walls. They hunted for them, and Arthur carried out his mission: Find Merlin and Gwen. They'd left to get Gaius to safety just before the warning sounded, and Arthur hadn't seen them since.

"Merlin!" he yelled. "Gwen!"

"Sire!"

Arthur skidded to a halt, spinning on his heel. Relief flooded over him at the sight of Elyan coming towards him, hand-in-hand with his sister. He hurried to meet them, pulling Gwen into a tight hug. She sighed in relief.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked, pulling back.

Gwen bit her lip, shaking her head. "I don't know. He ran off shortly after the warning sounded, when Elyan found us. He made us promise to get Gaius out for him."

"Damn it, Merlin," Arthur muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know where he was going?"

Gwen shrugged helplessly. "Just to search for the intruders."

_Of course. He's a brave, reckless idiot._

_ Not that I'll ever admit he's brave._

"Elyan, get Gwen to safety," he ordered. "I'll find Merlin."

"I'm coming with you," the siblings said simultaneously.

"Gwen-"

"No! He's my friend too, Arthur."

Faced with their identical determined stares, Arthur knew he wouldn't get his way. So he jerked his head, signaling them to follow, and he took off again. They ran past panicked servants until the halls became empty. Eerily empty. The only sounds the clanging bells and their rushing breaths, the blood thundering in Arthur's ears.

Arthur slowed warily, drawing his sword.

And found Merlin.

Further down the hall, the thick wooden doors to the throne room burst open. Merlin burst out of them, skidding across the floor to hit the wall. Still inside the room, Arthur could see a person's shadow advancing towards his servant, one arm raised and outstretched.

Arthur darted forward, catching a glimpse of the sorcerer, a tall man shrouded in ragged black robes. He was speaking in the sorcerer's tongue, his eyes beginning to flare gold. Arthur put on a final burst of speed, grabbing a fistful of Merlin's jacket. Merlin grabbed the wall and pulled himself up, grabbing Arthur's wrist for support as he staggered forward.

The spell hit the ground where Merlin had lain, invisible pressure slamming into the stone to crack it open.

Elyan rushed forward. Arthur pushed Merlin back, letting go only when Gwen had him. Then he rushed forward alongside Elyan, and while the sorcerer was mid-spell, they both plunged their swords into his gut. He fell, and it was then that Arthur spotted the second intruder, already dead inside the room.

Arthur furrowed his brows, pointing at the other body and turning to Merlin. "Did you do that?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I do have some skills, Arthur."

Arthur huffed. "To everybody's shock."

"Arthur," Gwen scolded, smiling.

"Well, he is the worst servant in the five kingdoms. You can hardly blame me for assuming."

Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder to take the bite out of his words, and he knew by Merlin's laugh that he understood. Gwen rolled her eyes at the manly version of affection and took her brother's arm to lead them away. Merlin and Arthur followed.

Arthur knocked him lightly with his shoulder. "No more disappearing and fighting sorcerers all alone, Merlin."

"What, were you worried about me?" Merlin teased.

"Of course not," Arthur huffed. "It would upset Guinevere."

"Only Gwen?"

"Percival might shed a tear."

Merlin shook his head, and his voice oozed sarcasm. "Whatever you say, sire."

Arthur moved as if to shove him, and Merlin bolted forward in mock fear. Arthur watched him run around the corner, calling for Gwen to protect him in a melodramatically high-pitched voice.

Left alone for a moment, Arthur faltered, glancing back. His gaze fell on where Merlin had fallen, at the cracked stone had almost been his best friend's body. If he had been a second later…

_But you weren't. You protected him. You always will._

"Oi, clotpole! Did you forget how to walk?"

Arthur pursed his lips.

_Maybe._

-BBCM-

Merlin crawled through the bushes, jaw clamped shut to quiet his breathing. Arthur normally scolded him for being the noisy clumsy one, but right now, trying to sneak his muscled bulk along without rustling leaves or snapping twigs, with his chainmail and sword jingling together occasionally, Arthur was the noisy clumsy one. Merlin wanted to relish the fact, but the bandits running past mere feet away dampened the joy.

If they rustled the wrong leaves, or snapped a twig, they would be dead in moments.

Just as the thought crossed Merlin's mind, a twig snapped, the sound echoing sharply through the forest.

The bandits reacted, raising swords and axes and maces. Merlin winced upon noticing that last one, his shoulder twinging with phantom pain – it had only been a couple weeks since Morgana and Agravaine's bandits had nearly killed and then kidnapped him. He remembered Gwaine saying something about how happy Arthur was to get him back, but he couldn't remember the reunion, and that frustrated him more than he cared to admit.

When their apparent leader shouted, the bandits started running. Merlin tensed, readying to use magic.

They ran the other way. Away from Merlin and Arthur.

Only when they were all gone did Merlin let out a sigh of relief, glancing back at Arthur. He was already scrambling to get out of the bushes, and Merlin couldn't hold back a laugh at his desperate movements. "Perhaps you should eat fewer pies, my lord."

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin followed him out, brushing the dirt off his palms. "What do you think snapped that twig?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Let's go."

He broke into a jog, heading away from the bandits and towards Camelot. Merlin sighed and resigned himself to running all the way back to the city. They'd _had_ horses, but they'd been dismounted and hunting when the bandits first showed up, and they'd been scared off, leaving Merlin and Arthur stranded on foot with only a crossbow that quickly ran out of bolts to fire.

They were jogging up a particularly steep slope when Arthur threw his arm out. Merlin smacked into it and stumbled to a halt. "Wh-"

Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting him an insistent stare. Suddenly, Merlin heard the same rustling leaves that he had. He turned, searching for the source. Arthur adjusted his grip on the crossbow, holding it like a club, putting his back to Merlin's as he searched too.

To Merlin's left, further down the slope, a twig snapped.

Merlin started using his magic to look ahead, but Arthur acted faster. He grabbed the back of Merlin's jacket and pushed him up the slope. He swung the crossbow around, pretending to aim it. He knelt behind a thick tree atop the slope, pulling Merlin down with him.

Merlin peeked around Arthur, running through a list of spells he could use.

A man emerged from the bushes.

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. Arthur let the crossbow drop, making his way down the slope. "Gwaine! I could've shot you!"

Gwaine glanced at the unloaded weapon. "With what? The nearest twig?"

Arthur raised it threateningly. "Don't test me."

Gwaine crossed his arms, lifting his chin with a lofty grin. "I live to test you, Arthur."

Merlin joined in gleefully. "Oh, I don't know, Gwaine, it might not be such a good idea right now – he's a little mad at some bushes that proved he's been eating too many pies."

Arthur spun, shoving a warning finger in Merlin's face. "There's daylight yet in which to hunt, _Mer_lin, and I can quite easily make you the target."

Gwaine leaned in as if to whisper conspiratorially, but his voice was a loud stage whisper. "You're right, the princess is quite angry. Perhaps you should make him a pie to calm him down."

Arthur bristled. "I do _not_ eat too many pies! It's _muscle_!"

Gwaine clapped Arthur's shoulder. "Whatever you say, sire. Come, Merlin, we should return to Camelot to hide from his rage."

Arthur spluttered indignantly as they walked away, but when Merlin snuck a glance back, he was checking on the size of his stomach.

-BBCM-

Arthur grunted as two men clad in all black shoved him to his knees. Beside him, Merlin received the same treatment. Arthur shot a glare back at them. His hands were raised in surrender, but the urge to clench them into fists flickered through them. _If you hurt Merlin…_

There were nearly a dozen more men in the clearing. One moved in front of the kneeling king and servant, tugging his scarf down to uncover a sneer. "I thought it would be more difficult to capture the great King Arthur."

Arthur glared up into the man's beady black eyes. "If you fought like a true knight rather than skulking around in the shadows, perhaps you would have enjoyed a tougher fight."

"Perhaps," he allowed, crouching to Arthur's eye level. "But then, I don't get paid to have fun. Lady Morgana was quite insistent that you die."

Arthur's jaw worked for a moment, fighting down the urge to punch the sneer off his face. If he was going to die, he didn't need to take Merlin with him. "Let my servant go."

Merlin shot him a wide-eyed, panicked look, shaking his head. "Arthur, no-"

"Silence!" the leader snapped. One of his men came forward to punch Merlin in the jaw. Instinct took over; Arthur tried to surge forward, but two men grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back to his knees. Merlin touched his jaw gingerly, but his eyes were full of steel as he straightened back up.

"I said I don't get paid for fun," the leader said, "but I still intend to have it. Not with you, Arthur, no, you need to die before you have a chance to slip away, but your servant here… I bet his screams will give me such joy before I sell him off as a slave."

Arthur snarled, starting to lunge again, but this time it wasn't the assassin's men who stopped him.

It was a glint in the trees, the familiar flash of sunlight off armor, accompanied by a dash of red fabric.

As a volley of crossbow bolts shot from the trees, Arthur dove to the side, tackling Merlin to the ground. He used his body to shelter Merlin from accidentally getting shot by friendly fire. He kicked out, knocking down the leader and one of his men as the knights surged forward. Leon felled them both with quick stabs.

The fight was over in seconds, and that was when Merlin started pushing at him. "Ge' off," he said, the words half-muffled by Arthur's armor.

Arthur rolled to the side and Merlin sucked in a breath, rubbing at the indentations on his cheeks. "Ow."

"You're welcome."

"You're _welcome_?" Merlin echoed incredulously. "You nearly crushed me!"

"I _saved_ your _life_."

"By squashing me!"

"Would you rather be squashed or dead?"

"Neither!"

"That wasn't an option."

"I don't care. I'm making it an option."

"_Mer_lin."

Merlin grumbled about it all the way back to Camelot.

-BBCM-

It felt strange. So strange. Stranger, perhaps, than anything Arthur had ever seen or felt before.

He stood near one end of a massive field, at the head of his army. Their ranks fanned out around and behind him. Across from them, just across the border, stood Lot's army, their black capes and massive axes in sharp contrast to Camelot's bright red and shining swords. Of the knights, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, and Leon stood closest to him, and their presence bolstered his nerves. That much, that was normal.

The strange part was Merlin. Standing at Arthur's side as he always did, but this time clad in armor. He had refused a proper knighting, so he had no sword; nor did he have a cape, but rather strips of red fabric woven amongst his chainmail, the gold Pendragon crest dotting the strips to show his allegiance. The same gold that matched his eyes when he used magic, because he was, apparently, a sorcerer.

The revelation as Arthur narrowly survived being wounded by Mordred had come as a shock, but after coming to terms with it and realizing just how much Merlin and, by extension, magic had done for him, the people he loved, and his kingdom, not to make it legal again would've made no sense. Thus Merlin, despite wishing to remain as his servant, had earned his place at the round table and amongst the army, now with the title of Court Sorcerer.

He didn't wear the armor often, preferring his usual three outfits, but he had readily agreed to it this time. Even he wasn't stupid enough to not wear armor to a war. When he'd emerged from the tent after Arthur had helped him into it, every knight – save Lancelot, who had beamed with pride – had looked the same way Arthur felt: Like it was both right and wrong at the same time. Right, because he had fought for them for years and deserved the honor, but also wrong because they had spent years treating him as their fumbling baby brother who needed their protection, only to find out he could destroy them all with a single thought.

It was a handy ability. But strange.

"You ready for this?" Arthur murmured.

Merlin put on a brave smile. "I've fought plenty of battles before, Arthur."

"Not like this. You've never been in the middle of a raging war."

Merlin's smile faded and his gaze slid left, into the distance, but his voice was firm. "Not only is Lot invading Camelot's lands, but he's starving his own people for the supplies with which to do so, especially small villages like Ealdor. I'm fighting for my home, Arthur. Both of them."

He lifted his chin, and in that moment, Arthur's worry gave way to pride. Most times, on the surface, Merlin might still be the clumsy servant Arthur had known for a decade, but he had also become a knight in every way that mattered. His loyalty, his strength, his bravery – all were unquestionably powerful. He was as noble as the best of knights.

So Arthur nodded, turning his attention back to Lot's army. "On me, then."

Merlin nodded, further bolstered by a clap on the shoulder from Percival, a ruffle of his hair from Leon, a joke from Gwaine, and words of encouragement from Lancelot and Elyan. Arthur smiled a little to himself – no matter how powerful he might be, their small group – nay, their family – would always view him as their little brother. Maybe this wasn't so strange after all.

Arthur lifted Excalibur high into the air. "For the love of Camelot!"

The knights thrust their swords up, and Merlin's eyes flared gold, turning the echoes of the cry into a deafening boom. "For the love of Camelot!"

As Lot's men gave a battle cry of their own, Arthur charged forward. Merlin charged ahead at his side, and the thunder of Camelot's army followed them.

Together, they plunged into battle.

Before the armies met, Merlin thrust his hand out. "_Framátir geweorp þisses greót_!"

The ground beneath some of Lot's army rumbled, then exploded. Dirt, grass, rocks, they all flew into the air. Some men followed, crashing down atop their allies, while the sudden gash swallowed more. At the edge of the spell's reach, several stumbled, tripping both themselves and the men around them.

Arthur had a split second to feel a sense of triumph. Then the men up front were pointing at Merlin, yelling "He's the sorcerer! Kill him!" Their message rippled back through the army, accompanied by a description. Not that it would be necessary, Arthur realized, fear flickering through him. Merlin's magic, his unique uniform – they painted him as a target. An important one.

If Merlin thought the same, he didn't show it. If anything, his speed increased, and he was already casting another spell. Flames erupted from his palm, and he thrust it forward, turning a stream of fire on Lot's men even as he kept yelling, hurling spell after spell at the enemy before Camelot's men could get tangled up and put at risk.

Then the armies met, men and weapons slamming into each other, becoming a heaving mass with a single goal: Survive.

Despite their determination to stick together, Arthur and Merlin were quickly separated. Arthur hacked and slashed at man after man, parrying and dodging and stabbing in moves that had long ago become instinctive. Against small skirmishes, Arthur's sword felt rather useless next to Merlin's magic, but here, he came alive, fighting for his kingdom with everything he had.

He never quite lost track of Merlin. Even amidst the chaos, the magic was easy to spot or hear. Merlin kept up a stream of the foreign words, sending men, weapons, earth, air, fire flying all around. He might hesitate to yank the earth from underneath their knights' feet, but it didn't stop him from being a one-man path of destruction.

Slowly, Arthur cut a path back to him. Blood, sweat, and dirt splattered his face, his chest heaving beneath his equally dirty armor, but he still fought strongly, his eyes glowing a steady gold.

For a brief moment, their eyes met. Merlin flashed a feral… it wasn't quite a grin – killing and war brought Merlin no satisfaction, Arthur knew – but he was clearly enjoying letting loose like this. It was a rare occurrence, even now.

A few yards behind Merlin, Percival let out a cry as someone managed to slice his cheek. Merlin spun on his heel, thrusting his hand forward, sending the offender flying. Percival shot him a grateful glance.

In the moment of distraction, one man broke from the crowd, swinging his axe straight for Merlin's back.

Arthur charged. He swung his sword up to block the axe, gritting his teeth as the blow reverberated up his arm. He pushed Merlin aside, to relative safety, and grabbed the hilt in both hands again, shoving back against Lot's man. He staggered, his axe slipping from his grip, and Arthur drove his sword into the man's gut.

"You all right?" he asked Merlin.

Merlin nodded, and he suddenly seemed still, more innocent with his eyes back to their normal blue. "Yeah. Thanks," he gasped.

"Watch your back," Arthur reminded him, harkening back to the lessons he'd been taking these last few months. "Always."

His eyes flashed, and Arthur spun to see the discarded axe sink into the chest of a man about to stab Arthur in the back. When he looked back at Merlin, the sorcerer was smirking. "I could say the same to you."

"_You_ distracted me."

Merlin put a hand over his heart as if he was offended. "I would _never_, sire!"

Arthur laughed. "Get back to fighting, you clotpole. If we win this, I might just be able to annex Ealdor."

Hope lit up Merlin's eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

Merlin threw himself back into the fight with renewed vigor.

-BBCM-

It was stupid. It was a border patrol, a simple patrol, nothing they hadn't done a billion times before over the years. It was even their whole group – Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Leon, and Elyan. They should've been safe. All was quiet, no sign of trouble whatsoever, and they were enjoying Gwaine desperately begging Merlin to stop turning his hair into flowers, when the blast of magic knocked them all off their horses.

Stunned and aching, Arthur scrambled to get to his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear it, when he saw the movement: Bandits, bursting forth from the trees, outnumbering them two to one, surging towards the men. But still, even as he realized his sword was attached to his fleeing horse, he wasn't terribly concerned.

Merlin was there. Merlin and his magic and his powerful desire to protect them all.

So Arthur flung himself into the fight, ducking beneath the first sword swung at him and punching his opponent in the gut. Arthur yanked his sword from him, clobbered him over the head with the hilt, and whirled to the man running up behind him. After deflecting the first blow, he sank the sword into his gut.

That was when he saw it.

On the other end of the battle, Merlin was focused on the enemy sorcerer. He was alone, and there was no way he was more powerful, so Merlin wasn't struggling at all. Almost casually, he thrust his arm out, and the enemy went flying, crashing back into a tree. He slid to the ground, unconscious.

Or so it seemed.

Merlin turned away, looking to see if any of the knights needed help. When Merlin's back was to him, despite his injury, the sorcerer lunged, a dagger sliding out of his sleeve. Arthur screamed Merlin's name. He spun, his eyes starting to light up gold.

The sorcerer plunged the dagger into Merlin's stomach.

Merlin gasped. The gold stuttered and vanished.

The sorcerer yanked the dagger out, pushing Merlin back before collapsing himself.

As Merlin fell beside him, clutching his bleeding wound, time seemed to slow.

Arthur roared in sheer rage. Every bandit turned to him. He ran forward, every thudding footstep seeming to echo like thunder. He swung his sword with burning fury, cutting down every bandit between him and Merlin with easy ferocity. They never stood a chance.

Only when he fell to his knees beside Merlin did time speed back up.

Merlin's breaths came in desperate gasps. "A-arthur-"

"Shush," Arthur admonished, surprised when his voice came out steady. His hands trembled, though, when he moved Merlin's to look at the wound. It was low, to the side – surely no organs had been hit? But he was bleeding heavily. Too heavily.

Arthur tore Merlin's scarf from his neck and pressed it to the wound. Whatever Merlin had been trying to say was cut off by a choked groan as he convulsed, his body instinctively fighting the pressure. Arthur pressed down through it, relieved when Merlin went limp, panting.

"You can heal this, right?" Arthur asked. It had to be a pointless question. Merlin had had years to practice healing spells freely. Surely he was capable now of healing his own wound?

Merlin went rigid, gritting his teeth in concentration. His eyes flared gold, but the color quickly flickered and faltered. He fell limp, despair flooding his expression. "N-no."

Panic shot through Arthur. "Yes, you can," he insisted. Merlin shook his head, but Arthur ignored it. "You _can_."

"I don't… have the strength…"

"Yes, you do," Arthur pressed. "You _have_ to."

He was vaguely aware of Elyan laying his hand on Arthur's shoulder, of Percival standing over them like a silent protector, of Gwaine and Lancelot kneeling on either side of Merlin, Lancelot's hand going to rest in the younger man's hair. Their eyes were full of tears, as if they had already accepted Merlin's fate.

Merlin lifted his head, twisting to look back. "I don't, but… someone might."

Arthur leaned forward. "Who?"

With great effort, Merlin lifted one hand just enough to point. "We… we passed a clearing, a… a big one. Take… take me there."

Arthur looked up, but Percival was already moving, slipping his arms underneath of Merlin. Arthur pressed Merlin's hands over his scarf, and only then did he let go, letting Percival lift him up. Merlin groaned, and with his face now ashen, the moment reminded Arthur far too much of the night the Dorocha nearly killed him.

He shook off the thought, following Elyan as he led the way back to the clearing. It took not even five minutes, but Merlin looked so much nearer to death as he gestured feebly for Percival to lay him down. Wondering what on earth this had possibly accomplished, Arthur knelt back down, resuming putting pressure on the wound.

Merlin sucked in a deep, shaky breath. Then, in a weak, guttural voice, he called out in a language Arthur didn't recognize. "_O drakon… e male so… ftengometta… tesd'hup'anankes!_"

Nothing happened. No golden eyes, no sudden healing. "…Merlin?"

He shook his head the tiniest bit, and Arthur wondered if that was all he could manage. "He's… so old. I haven't… done this in years. I don't… I don't know if he'll come. If he… can come."

Arthur had no idea who "he" was, but he was desperate. "He'll come," he said with a confidence he didn't feel. "He'll come."

A smile flickered across Merlin's lips. "Arthur, if this… if this doesn't work, I just… I want to say… thank you."

Oh, no. No. This sounded far too similar to Arthur's own near-death speech on the shores of Albion. "Why? I didn't- I should've been closer. I should've protected you. I let my guard down."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's wrist. "No," he stated. "This is _not_ your fault."

"You are my friend, Merlin. You're the closest thing to a little brother I've ever had. It's my _job_ to protect you."

Merlin's eyes went wide, tears gathering within them. His voice, though, was firm, insistent as he tightened his grip on Arthur's wrist. "Arthur, you cannot blame yourself for this. All right? Whatever happens, this wasn't your fault. Promise me you know that."

Arthur didn't want to believe it, but when Merlin had this much conviction, he was rarely wrong. So Arthur nodded. "I know that."

Merlin relaxed, letting his head fall back. "And I… you're the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, too."

Arthur smiled. Later, he would fervently deny that he was also crying.

Moments later, wingbeats distracted him. He looked skyward, spotting a somewhat deformed white dragon, descending towards them with a cry. Arthur shifted protectively, ready to dive in front of Merlin, the knights drawing their swords.

Merlin reached towards the creature. "It's all right," he whispered. "Her… her name is Aithusa. I wasn't… expecting her. I guess… Kilgharrah's really gone."

Lancelot sheathed his sword first, stepping closer to the dragon, simultaneously wary and curious. She shuffled away from him, letting out a nervous mewl. Merlin whispered to her in the same strange language. Whatever he said must've soothed her, because this time she came forward confidently, lowering her muzzle to nudge Arthur's hands. He glanced at Merlin, who nodded, and reluctantly sat back.

Merlin didn't let go of his wrist.

Aithusa gently nudged the blood-soaked scarf aside, exposing the gash beneath; it still oozed blood. She backed off slightly, opening her mouth and inhaling deeply. Arthur stiffened, expecting a surge of flames to burn Merlin alive.

Instead, shimmering air rippled out of her mouth, hot but not uncomfortably so. Merlin breathed in sharply, and by the time he'd finished exhaling, the dragon finished and backed off. Merlin managed to smile at her.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, shaking his shoulders. "Merlin, wake up!"

"Arthur!" Gwaine interrupted, stilling his hands and pointing at the wound. "Look."

Arthur did. And promptly sagged in relief.

It was gone. Healed without so much as a scar. And Merlin wasn't unconscious, but rather sleeping peacefully.

Arthur slumped forward, suddenly exhausted, listening to the other knights exchange relieved words. "When you wake up, Merlin," Arthur sighed, squeezing his friend's shoulder, "I'm going to kill you. For treason. For stressing out the king."

Merlin didn't laugh or sass back, but he was breathing, strong and steady.

For now, that was enough.

(And later, he would also deny that he hugged Merlin the second he opened his eyes.)


End file.
